Page 58 of A Matter of Dragons

Rayne made a soft murmur in the back of her throat, the only indication that she’d heard what I’d said.

“I just want you to get out of here,” I finished, with perhaps a touch more vehemence than the situation warranted.

Our footsteps echoed off the brick townhouses lining the road. Somewhere far overhead, gulls wheeled and cried. The slam of a door came from deep inside the house on our right.

“Understood,” Rayne replied in a whisper.

We rounded the corner, and the Master and Mistress stood before us. My chest twisted in a strange way, but wasn’t I happy to be here? Wasn’t I just delighted to be rid of this woman?

Rayne stopped, then turned to face me. I wished I hadn’t noticed the darkness under her eyes or the way she clenched her jaw when our eyes met. She’d smiled at me, once. Not so long ago.

“And Eadberh?” Rayne said, her eyes hard as flint. “What will you do to him?”

I frowned. “What? Aside from saving his life and paying for his medical care?”

A muscle in her jaw ticked. “You want me out of your town. I assume you want him gone too.”

“I don’t care about him!” I snapped. “You’re the one who told the entire Town Council that you murdered your own mother!”

She flinched, and I instantly regretted my words.

“Look, you need to leave,” I said. “The Town Council doesn’t give a damn about Eadberh, but you tried to take credit for a murder, and I promised I’d deal with it. With you. So you just need to get out of here, for the Mothers’ sakes.”

Rayne blinked rapidly. Her neck flushed as she swallowed.

“Once Eadberh’s better, I’ll send him off too,” I grumbled.

Rayne glanced at the gleaming white-washed front of the Master and Mistress, then back at the stones beneath her feet. “He won’t want to leave,” she said. Her voice was so low it was almost a whisper.

I shrugged. “Well, hopefully, he can recover without making such a fucking spectacle of himself. Then no one will care if he stays.”

Rayne turned toward the front of the Master and Mistress. Her flame-red hair fluttered around her shoulders and the nape of her neck, and even the dull, utilitarian outfit she was wearing couldn’t hide her phenomenal curves. Damn, she was a beautiful woman. I wished she wasn’t such a beautiful woman.

Some part of me insisted on choosing this exact moment to remember the letter from my mother that was currently stuffed behind the sinking Nightingale water clock. My best and possibly only chance to find a mole in King Donovan’s court was standing next to me, and she was about to be sent away from Cairncliff forever.

Well, fuck it. I’d find some other connection to Valgros. There was Eadberh, for one, and maybe he’d be a bit more receptive to the idea once I reminded him of the fact that I’d saved his life.

Still, the bitter taste would not leave the back of my throat. This woman was a dragon, for the Mothers’ sakes. She was Mad Scarlett’s lost daughter. But she was also a soldier of the King of Valgros, and hadn’t she just made it painfully clear where her loyalties lay?

Rayne spun back to face me.

“Goodbye, Doshir,” she said.

I nodded slightly. “Goodbye, Rayne.”

I turned before I could watch her walk away.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Doshir

Both letters stared at me from behind the sculpted turmoil of the doomed elven ship The Nightingale. Quite an exquisite piece, that water clock. The details on the drowning elves’ faces were disturbingly realistic. That naval battle had been the turning point of the entire war between the Kingdom of the Summer and the Kingdom of the Fall. The Kingdom of the Fall had every advantage. The battle was being fought on their territory, and they had more troops, smarter generals, and more magical firepower. But the Kingdom of the Summer had Rensivar the mad dragon, who’d locked the entire Kingdom of the Fall in an underground prison after sinking their prized Nightingale.

I sighed and brought my hand to the bridge of my nose. Thinking of The Nightingale made me think of the possibly-mythical Rensivar, the mad dragon my dear mother was now worried about for some inexplicable reasons. I dragged my eyes past the frozen metal torment of the doomed Nightingale’s passengers and onto the two tightly wrapped letters. The one from my mother probably contained a politely-worded demand for an update on my efforts to locate a mole within King Donovan’s court.

Well, then I’d just read the letter from the Historian first. I pulled out the parchment tube and slid my finger underneath the wax seal. The wax tingled with magic as I loosened it, which was a bit strange. I didn’t think they enchanted these kinds of records. They were, after all, supposed to be public knowledge. At least they were public knowledge for anyone with permission to enter the Iron Mountains and speak to the Historian.

The wax gave way, sending a scattering of sparks across the back of my hand. If anyone but me had tried to open that letter, the whole thing probably would have burst into flames. I shook my fingers, bent down to pick the wax seal up off the floor, and then unrolled the parchment.